


immortal, just not for long

by secretly_a_savior



Series: the author and the exile [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Cheating, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Extended Metaphors, Extramarital Affairs, Guilt, Guilty Pleasures, M/M, Messy, sorry lin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretly_a_savior/pseuds/secretly_a_savior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, if I’m a masterpiece, what does that make you, monsieur?” He asked, the words breathy and quiet and against the other’s soft lips, quirking a brow. </p><p>There was a moment’s silence- a heavy silence; a silence that seemed to carry something somehow, before a response fell from the exile’s lips. </p><p>“The artist.”</p><p>--</p><p>“What would an artist be if he didn’t indulge in enjoying his own masterpieces once in a while?”</p><p>“He’d be a humble man.”</p><p>“Not my style.” Lafayette replied with a shit-eating grin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	immortal, just not for long

**Author's Note:**

> I am 100% scummy trash and I hate myself.
> 
> The smut is awful, I know. It's too quick and it's messy and ugh but i like this okay? It's the longest thing I've written in a while and lafayette/hamilton is so important SO SO IMPORTANT okay? okay thanks. 
> 
> This takes place probably 4 or 5 weeks after "i'll never let our love get so close" and i'll probably publish something to fill the gap soon but all you REALLY need to know if it's tl;dr is that Lafayette has been sent away from France for badmouthing the shit out of the king, and Alexander is living on his own to be close to work so Eliza/the kids are off somewhere else. Before Eliza, Lafayette and Alexander sort of had a thing but it ended. 
> 
> this is a series now, nerds. sucks to fucking suck.  
> (how do I write like I'm running out of time????)
> 
> leave a comment please!

 

                Beauty incarnate sat before Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette- and he sat perfectly still, exhaling slowly. An artist sat, copying the details of Beauty’s face in oil paints, each stroke on canvas furthering the incredibly accurate likeness.  Painting was much too delicate for Lafayette, but he wished he could do it- wished he could immortalize Beauty when he looked best- when his mind was at work. When his quill hit parchment with such ferocity that he swore smoke arose from the man’s writing. When his passions were focused on something with more _flesh_ than paper, when fingers trailed and sought and teased.

                Beauty, of course, had a name. His name was Alexander Hamilton, but as someone with ten names, monikers didn’t mean much to him. He’d much rather _describe_ people- word them like poetry. He’d rather be immortalized as a fantastic tactician, as a lover, as a _fighter_ , than he would as a man with three hundred bourgeois titles. He wasn’t sure Alexander felt the same way, but Lafayette was sure that tongues not yet conceived would have much to say about the object of his affection hundreds of years  in the future.

                Seeing him sit so still almost made the Frenchman uncomfortable. Even when seated, Alexander was always working; if his feet were not pacing, his mind was. So, to remedy the heavy, serious air that filled the room, Lafayette let his hair down and began making faces at Alexander- trying to stay silent so as not to alert the painter of his actions. Lafayette had no qualms about ruining the painting- he himself commissioned it. Alexander snickered, but quickly straightened himself out, giving the Frenchman a glare that could kill.

                The man who Lafayette had enlisted for the piece turned around in irritation.

“We’re running out of daylight, sir- the longer you harass Mr. Hamilton, the longer the painting will take.” He said, desperation running clear through his voice. It was to be a two day project- he could finish today if the Marquis hadn’t been so playful.

                “So be it- the longer it takes the more coin you arrive home with, _non?_ Go home for the day, Alexander and I have important business to attend to.”

                The painter scoffed and stood, beginning to pack his things. Alexander cocked his head, raking his mind for what the important business could be. He was glad to finally stretch his neck for a moment, though. He watched the man leave in a huff, leaving his easel, wet palette, and some horsehair paintbrushes soaking in water- he’d be back tomorrow to finish the portraiture. Alexander hated it- he had more important things to be doing- truly he did. They could paint him when he was dead- or better yet they could just not paint him.

                He wanted to be known for his words, for his legislature. Not his looks. He didn’t need any replications of himself.to be hung in any hall or home. He appreciated the gesture though, and he only sat for it once he’d discovered that Gilbert had already payed the man. Out of habit, he stayed perfectly still, but suddenly he was looking up at Lafayette, who had wrapped his arms around the Secretary’s waist.

                “Why are you making me do this?” he asked, an affectionate haze covering his voice where irritation should’ve been.

                “Because you are a _masterpiece,_ mon ami. “

                Alexander rolled his eyes, and shame rolled through his stomach. He knew this was wrong, but he was addicted to the man before him. He sighed heavily and resigned himself to the grip that surrounded him.

“Je suis ton ami?” he inquired in polished French, angling his neck up so brown eyes could catch their counterpart. “Je préfère ton amour.” He continued, biting his lip and quirking an eyebrow. Lafayette smiled – a wide grin.

“Je suis desoleé,” he replied calmly, shaking his head and removing a hand from the small of his back to move some of his unruly hair from his eyes.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this. I allow you refuge in my home and you punish me.”

“Capturing true beauty is the least I can do to repay such a debt, _mon amour.”_

“You’re better off in the garden then, for an immoral man stands in my shoes. “ he retorted, a grin betraying his words as the other offered the term of affection in his mother tongue.

“Beauty can be immoral. Sin can be just as beautiful as anything pure. It just depends on how you see it. ” Lafayette replied. The words were quiet, intimately spoken even. He leaned in as he whispered them, and punctuated them with a playful kiss. Alexander melted into the kiss, rising up onto his toes to push into it. The Frenchman’s hand returned to Hamilton’s waist and he bit the Secretary’s lip, eliciting a noise from the smaller man.

“So, if I’m a masterpiece, what does that make you, monsieur?” He asked, the words breathy and quiet and against the other’s soft lips, quirking a brow.

There was a moment’s silence- a heavy silence; a silence that seemed to carry something somehow, before a response fell from the exile’s lips.

“The artist.”

Before he knew what was going on, Alexander was being backed into a the wall, deft, soft hands removing his coat expertly before tossing it aside haphazardly- a contradiction, of course. Lafayette was the master of contradictions. He unbuttoned oxfords only to rip them off anyway, he looked like an _angel_ yet slayed with the precision of Death herself on the battlefield. As they stepped haphazardly, Alexander slipped by the wet paint palette, knocking it aside, covering his white shirt and hand with oily pigments. He gasped and pulled his hand away from Lafayette, so as not to ruin his waistcoat.

Lafayette laughed and shook his head, pulling the shorter man back in again despite being covered in paint. The palette slipped to the floor, splashing some of the still wet paint onto the ground. Alex glanced down at the hard wood at their feet, but decided he could clean it tomorrow. Or later. He was finally sandwiched between the wall and the taller man and heat and affection were replacing the worry and shame in his stomach.

“Is this the important business that we had to attend to?” he asked, bringing his clean hand up to unbutton the very top button of Lafayette’s collar. His hand was swatted away though.

“ _Non,_ No touching.” Gilbert teased, pinning Alexander’s wrists to the wall before pressing his lips to the hollow of his jaw and sucking a rough kiss to the spot and moving down before being met with the elaborate collar of the wordsmith’s shirt. It was a tied piece on top of a traditional button collar. He dragged his hands up the other’s sides- dragging paint across the garment and then pulled on the knot, loosening and finally pulling it free, before continuing down with his mouth, unbuttoning each button expertly with his teeth-as if he’d had practice.

“ _Fuck,”_ Alexander breathed as teeth barely grazed his chest. Lafayette straightened up and finished the remaining buttons off with his hands before pushing the delicate garment off of Hamilton’s shoulders leaving the him in his pants and his simple cotton undershirt.

“What would President Washington think of that language?” he teased, pulling the shorter man closer with a smirk.

“What would Washington think of this affair?” he asked again, mirroring the officer’s smirk as he brought a hand up to rub a splotch of paint off of Lafayette’s face. He frowned as his hand was swatted away once more.

“What did I say?”

“There’s paint on your face- it’s going to get in your hair.”

“We are making a mess now- there is time to get clean later, oui?”

Alexander rolled his eyes and grinned; another contradiction. Lafayette the narcissist, Lafayette the self-involved Frenchman was a charming romantic who _always_ put his partner first. He shook his head and held his hands up as if in surrender, only to immediately break the rule as he wrapped them around the other; with good reason, of course. His _feet_ were being pulled off the ground. He was being _carried._ He huffed, which elicited a laugh from Lafayette. Without incident the pair made it to the bedroom and the small bed they’d been sharing for the last month.

With that, Hamilton found his hands pinned above his head by strong hands, and grinned at the stripe of paint that was now drying on his companion’s face. It was skin colored- or, at least, the color of Alexander’s skin, which was numerous shades lighter than Lafayette’s. The contrast made it obvious- and as the smaller man had predicted, some had wound up in some of the other’s unruly curls. He was being straddled by the Frenchman, who leaned in and placed a hungry kiss to the treasury secretary’s lips. Leaning in caused him to grind against the other, which left the other keening up into the friction.

Lafayette pulled away from the kiss and sat up completely, faux-frown falling across well-shaped lips.

“You stayed compliant with the painter for so long- stayed so perfectly quiet and still. You even followed his directions- maybe you’re just bored with me. _Quel dommage…”_ The words fell from his lips, carefully and quietly enunciated. Alexander frowned- a real one- as he looked up at Lafayette and felt a single fingernail trailing down his chest. The sun was going down in the window behind the man, and the light filtered just past him, turning his hair into sort of a halo, just _barely_ silhouetting him. Alexander wanted to keep the image forever- but alas he was no painter.

Maybe he’d write about it.

“I’m sorry, I’m s-“

“You’re sorry _what?_

Alexander grinned and bit the inside of his lip. So it was like this, huh? Not that he’d ever complain.

“I’m sorry, _sir._ I’ll be better. I promise.”

                Lafayette hummed thoughtfully as if he was _thinking about_ Alexander’s promise- although one look at him and you’d know he was painfully aroused as well. He finally nodded and pulled the final layer of fabric that was covering his partner’s chest away before beginning on his own overgarments. They were gone after just a moment- he was dressed more casually- after all he hadn’t been sitting for a portrait. He leaned back in- relishing in the feeling of skin against skin, and used the toe of his shoe to pull at the heel, kicking them off easily. Alexander followed suit without reprimand and their shoes landed on the floor with a thud.

                His kisses began to get sloppier until they moved off of Alexander’s lips entirely. They were on his jaw, then his neck, then his chest. Alexander let out almost a _whine_ as he felt a sharp bite to his collarbone, gripping the sheets above his head as the other moved lower and lower and he had to _work_ to keep himself still. He felt hands beginning to undo his pants as Lafayette pulled himself lower and lower on his lover’s body.

                “Oh, _fuck,_ yes sir.” Alexander let out, the words rolling off his tongue _almost_ unintentionally.

                “Oh, so _eager, mon bonheur_.”

                There were hands on his waistband, but Alexander’s heart jumped in his chest and he swallowed thickly, tensing up. ‘ _my happiness’._ That so wasn’t fair. Even _my love_ felt normal- felt **acceptable-** but _my happiness_ felt too heavy. The guilt rushed back through him momentarily- the pet name and genuine affection a reminder that this _needed_ to end distracting him until _oh, shit._ He was free of his breeches and stockings and there was a warm hand wrapped around him and he let his anxieties flutter away with a muttered curse.

                He was now completely exposed, whereas Lafayette was still constrained by his pants and socks. It seemed the other noted this at the same time, because he pulled himself away from Alexander completely, standing and stretching. Hamilton let out a groan and propped himself on his elbows as the other aimlessly milled around, leaving his companion on the bed, fully exposed to the air of the room.

                Lafayette stopped, catching the other’s eye and grinning. He began slowly, _slowly_ disrobing himself. Truly, it was just as torturous for him as it was Alexander, but it was fun watching the other so annoyed and aroused and needy.

                “There are just so many _buttons_ and _hooks.”_ He faux-complained, his voice low and his accent thick as he fiddled with a clasp for a moment before finally pulling his pants and undergarments off on one obscene, fell swoop. He pulled his socks off and set them aside, and then stepped closer to the bed, only to sit on the edge of it and begin neatly folding all of his clothes.

                Hamilton silently wondered what part of _making a mess_ involved neatly folding and stacking paint-streaked clothes but he didn’t say anything out loud, instead he just cocked his head, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth in anticipation and confusion. Not that he didn’t enjoy the strip tease, but there were definitely more proactive things that the Frenchman could’ve been doing. Finally though, there were lips on his and he moaned appreciatively at the contact.

                He wanted nothing more to run his hands through the other’s hair, feel his warm skin under his own calloused fingers, but he played along- lest he further delay his own pleasure. Not to mention, rules and controls turned him on- added another dimension to things. He wasn’t sure _why,_ but he liked it. It kept him on his toes. It kept him engaged- even if it did test his limits. (And his patience.) Hands roamed his own body and he was once again straddled by the other.

                Lafayette wishes he could pay someone to paint _this-_ the contrast of their skin tones, the way they _worshipped_ each other- the sweat and the hushed affections. The pure _need_ of the contact between them. If Hell consisted of reliving your sins, Lafayette was more than willing to die. He wondered if Alexander felt the same way. He wondered if Alexander felt anything but _remorse-_ because Lafayette found himself falling further and further in love with the man beneath him.

                “What do you want, Alexander?” He asked, innocence curling through his tone. He palmed the other slowly, his tongue sitting between his teeth, visible between his hardly parted lips.

                Alexander both hated and _loved_ that Lafayette could make him **beg.** He’d had enough _begging_ when he was young, begging God for his _life._ He’d had enough _begging_ during the war, when he wanted to be in the trenches- ruling men with a weapon and not a pen. But nonetheless it always worked on Lafayette- he just wanted to hear desperation in the usually confident secretary’s voice.

                “You, sir.” He replied simply, pulling his brows together and pouting, trying his best to look pathetic and needy. Usually, Lafayette would ask for more, but he, too, was growing impatient with his own antics.

                “What would an artist be if he didn’t indulge in enjoying his own masterpieces once in a while?”

                “He’d be a humble man.”

                “Not my style.” Lafayette replied with a shit-eating grin, and with that he leaned and reached all the way forward towards the small table that sat by the head of the bed, grabbing a nondescript bottle and uncorking it with his teeth. Alexander took the cue and pulled his legs carefully from between the other’s and hooked them on his waist. “You’re so keen on getting this over with.” Said the exile, shaking his head and spitting the cork to the floor. He poured some of the slick onto his fingers and placed the bottle on the wide edge on the foot of the bed. It rested there precariously. “Enjoy this, Alexander.”

                “Yes, sir.” Alexander replied, shifting down in anticipation despite his own words. He bit his lips and let out a restrained gasp as he felt a single finger in him. Now was the hard part, not touching, not pulling him closer, not outright _demanding_ more from his lover.  He let his hands move from above his head so his arms were now by his sides, fingernails gripping the sheets. Another gasp, another welcome intrusion..

                It seemed like _hours_ were passing as he watched Lafayette lazily stroke himself with lubricant and he worked his fingers into Alexander. He appreciated the preparation, he really did, but he felt lke he’d been waiting _hours-_ of course he knew his companion was just testing his patience. Seeing how much of a tease he could be before the secretary snapped. He’d been exercising restraint for hours now, what with sitting for a portrait and now _this,_ and ways to exact revenge on the Frenchman were forming in his barely coherent mind.

                Finally, Lafayette moved, and while Alexander whined at being suddenly without Lafayette’s fingers, he was quieted by what he felt pressing at his entrance. The exile moved forward slowly and as he did, he leaned all the way in, wrapping his masterpiece’s legs around his waist and pressing a kiss to the smaller man’s lips. Hamilton took it all in at once, eagerly- the other’s stubble against his face, the slow stretch and burn of Lafayette inside of him and the noises he made. He absolutely melted into it all, deciding all of the teasing and anticipation was worth it.

                He shifted slightly and nodded once he was adjusted, and a high pitched moan fell from his throat as the other began to move, picking up speed slowly. The treasury secretary mentally noted another contradiction. How could one man be so cruel and harsh, yet so gently and caring at the same time? Despite his rules and his games, Alexander never once didn’t have _complete control._ It was the ultimate illusion.

                “ _Mon dieu,_ Alexander.” Lafayette’s accent was thick as his mind escaped him, becoming completely enveloped in pleasure, in _Alexander._ Even when he didn’t have the use of his hands his ministrations, the sounds that left him, the contours of his body; it was all enough to drive him _absolutely fucking wild._ “So good for me, _so perfect.”_ He praised, just as the other inhaled sharply, bucking up into the contact and gripping the cotton sheets harder.

                Alexander bit his lip and cursed as he shifted, his breath shaky. It was an unintentional movement- the other had moved _just right_ and hit the spot within him that _set him alight;_ and then he _kept hitting it._

He felt a hand wrap around him and it wasn’t long until they both finished together in cacophonous moans and encouragements and the sounds of skin on skin. Waves of pleasure wracked through Alexander, and he was near positive that he’d ripped the fabric of his bedclothes.

                When his breathing returned to normal, Lafayette stood and before anything else, he observed his lover for a moment.         

                “I thought it would be _difficult_ to improve on a masterpiece, but I believe I’ve done it.” He said with a grin, which pulled a chuckle from Alexander.

                “Really, and how’d you do that?” The wordsmith asked, moving to sit and lean against the headboard. He realized quietly that he’d have to _sit_ for a portrait for at least another _three hours_ tomorrow on a hard wooden stool and he cursed himself. It seemed pleasure only found it’s way into his life when it was inopportune. He didn’t _regret_ it, though. When he glanced around the room, Lafayette was gone, and he frowned, only for him to come back momentarily with a warm, wet cloth. As he climbed onto the bed and began gently cleaning up, he spoke.

                “I left my mark- a _signature,_ if you will.” He said, letting fingers drift to and linger on one of the bites and bruises he’d left on Alexander- the bite marks on his collarbone. Alexander just raked a hand through his hair and scoffed. As he inspected his faint reflection in the now-darkened window, he realized they were all strategically placed spots- spots that would be hidden by clothing- all but one, right on his jaw. He could explain that away to a fight or a fall, though. He was sure the portraitist was almost done anyway, he probably wouldn’t even notice it, and he didn’t need to report to any sort of _official_ business for another two days.

                “I love it, the artistic value is incredible.” Alexander replied. “There are better canvasses, though, ones you deserve. Ones of higher quality. Canvasses that you can have forever and keep.”

                “Temporary, yes, but low-quality you are not, Alexander. Don’t speak so ill of yourself.” Lafayette chastised, pulling the other closer, low onto the bed to lie together. “All good things come to an end, yes, but art is immortal.”

Beauty incarnate had one question as he let himself shift into the other’s arms, letting affection and tire fill him.

“Immortal, Gilbert, or immoral?

**Author's Note:**

> "mon ami" = my friend  
> "mon amour" = my love  
> “Je suis ton ami?” = i am your friend?  
> “Je préfère ton amour.” = i prefer 'your love'  
> “Je suis desoleé,” = I apologize/I am sorry  
> "mon bonheur" = my happiness  
> "mon dieu"= my god
> 
> please comment even if it's mean


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